


Five Times the Black Widow Fell and the One Time She Didn't

by real_live_angelface



Series: Bing ba-da boom! [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Fifth Element (1997), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV), Temeraire - Naomi Novik, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: And a good dose of hand waving, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, But it's chaotic good enough, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, I'm not salty you're salty, Includes Stucky, Multiple Crossovers, NOT SAD, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Snap Feels, Questionably logical wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, The usual bouquet of U.S. English bad language words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/real_live_angelface/pseuds/real_live_angelface
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin...except 100% Guaranteed not to be Sad.aka a cracky Avengers: Endgame fix-itaka an excuse to write more crossovers
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov & Clint Barton & James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Series: Bing ba-da boom! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700155
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Five Times the Black Widow Fell and the One Time She Didn't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snycock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic written for my friend Jen. Happy Birthday!!!!!!
> 
> Not beta'd, because it was written for my beta. All mistakes are mine.

Once reaching the mountains of Vormir, Natasha truly began to feel the weight of their task. The atmosphere lent itself to that, starlight filtering down through the reddish haze that seemed to wrap tighter around her as she walked. It eased its way between her and Clint. It made everything blurry, fog so all-encompassing that it was hard not to feel like she was becoming part of it.

To see the Red Skull appear before them made sense, in a bizarre sort of way. After the events of the last few years, Natasha almost felt relieved to see him. To know there would be no new foe to meet, but rather, one that she already knew. Or at least, one that she had read about.

But the Red Skull wasn’t the true foe, he was only the messenger. The Soul Stone demanded a sacrifice, and she knew what needed to be done. Clint seemed to realize it at the same time, gripping her arms in silent protest and looking deep into her eyes.

“Let me do this,” she said, through gritted teeth, shaking off his hands more brusquely than she meant to.

“It should be me,” Clint replied, following her as she approached the edge of the abyss.

The Red Skull looked on, impassive, more mythical than real, his edges half-dissolving the the murk that cloaked his form.

“Clint, you have a family.”

“So do you,” Clint replied. “And they need you. They’ll always need you. Just like I do.”

It was pointless to argue. Natasha knew she wanted this. She wanted this more than she had wanted anything in a long time. The chance to clear her ledger. To take that one final action that would indisputably demonstrate her dedication, her commitment, to making the world a better place, rather than contributing to the patterns that kept it grinding along through the same old grime of inequity and suffering…

**1) Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars.**

She jumped, and for a moment was afraid she wouldn’t fall. Clint grabbed at her wrist, tried to drag her back up the cliff, but she kicked out against the rough stone, arcing back out into the expanse of nothingness that awaited her…

…and landed on something soft, undulating slowly underneath her back. Next to her, a disheveled old man stared at her, eyes wide, long gray hair whipping in the wind. He looked extremely familiar.

“Oh,” he said. “How interesting.”

Natasha sat up to assess her position. Below her, a body. Rich, brown feathers sleek beneath her hands. The bird whose back she was now riding upon shuddered and a loud cry echoed off the cliffs of Vormir.

“I don’t imagine you speak eagle,” the old man said. “He’s said ‘You’re welcome.’”

Natasha blinked at him. The memory of an ill-advised _Lord of the Rings_ movie marathon with Steve flashed across her mind. Holy shit. Gandalf the Grey. Really?

Gandalf cocked an eyebrow. “Oh. Well. I’m sorry to have been presumptuous,” he continued, and proceeded to address her in something that sounded like Old English, and then some ancient-sounding Germanic tongue. When she remained silent, still grappling with the possibility that this indeed was the supposedly-fictional Gandalf the Grey sprawled next to her on the back of a giant eagle, he switched to a language that sounded like clear, sunlit water running over river-smooth stones. Elvish, her mind supplied. It was probably Elvish.

“I speak English,” she finally managed.

“Oh good.” Gandalf cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m a bit of a hurry. Is there somewhere I can drop you off on my way back to Middle-Earth?”

“Um,” Natasha said, her heart twinging with an unexpected pang of remorse. She wondered if her failure to fall would somehow prevent Clint from getting the Soul Stone, after all.

“Oh, I see,” Gandalf said, his gaze going distant. He nodded sharply, harrumphing under his breath, then focused on her again. “This is not the first time you have fallen.”

“I suppose not,” Natasha admitted, thinking of the Red Room. The KGB. S.H.I.E.L.D. Her professional life splashed across the internet for all to see. And finally, the Snap.

“They can wait for me a little while longer,” Gandalf said, scanning the landscape ahead of them. He leaned forward and whispered something to the eagle, and the bird banked sharply, swooping down to a lake where Clint was kneeling in the middle of the water, the Soul Stone glowing in his hand.

“Go back with him,” Gandalf said, as the eagle landed in a cloud of dust at the edge of the lake.

“Gandalf?” Clint asked, his voice going squeaky, and then his eyes widened as Natasha slid down the eagle’s back to the ground. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking. “Nat?”

“Hey,” she said, because that was the only word that she could manage around the lump in her throat.

“Go now,” Gandalf said. “Return to your world, both of you. Courage will now be your best defence against the storm that is at hand —that and such hope as I may have given you during the short period of our acquaintance.”

He lifted a hand in salute and the great eagle sprang back up into the air with a mighty flap of its wings, giving one more courageous, ear-splitting cry before fading off into the distance.

“It should have been me,” Clint said, sniffling loudly as he waded toward her.

“Yes, well,” Natasha said, reaching out a hand. “If it had been you, Gandalf wouldn’t have bothered to show up.”

Clint snorted, squeezing her hand gently. “Probably true.”

**2) It’s not the fall that kills you...**

She jumped, and for a moment was afraid she wouldn’t fall. Clint grabbed at her wrist, tried to drag her back up the cliff, but she kicked out against the rough stone, arcing back out into the expanse of nothingness that awaited her…

...and landed on a crash pad, the air pushing out of her lungs, her eyes watering with the impact. There were people crowded around her. No, around them. There was someone else there, trying to catch his breath. Curly hair. Blue eyes. Very nice coat.

“Ow,” the other person said, in an imperious drawl.

“Where’d you come from?” one of the hovering crowd asked in a thick British accent, leaning into Natasha’s face.

“He’s just gotten past the bicyclist,” another man cut in. “We don’t have much time to set up.”

The crowd mobilized around them. A few people tugged the crash pad out from under them and carted it away. Natasha got to her feet, her body protesting the movement. There was a woman standing by with a vial of what looked to be fake blood in her hand. The group jostled around Natasha, and a short blond man barreled through, his eyes glazed with horror and panic.

“Sherlock!” he said, his voice hoarse, as if he’d just been shouting.

Natasha took a steadying breath, her eyes darting between the short, blond man and the tall man who was now lying on the pavement. The woman was pouring her vial of fake blood in a dribble from the corner of his mouth and down along his cheek.

“Fucking Christ, I thought you were dead!” the blond man sputtered, his face turning red.

“Oh for God’s sake, John.” The tall man rolled his eyes. “Do keep up.”

After that, Natasha found it really hard to deny that these two men were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson – and more specifically, the modern versions from that BBC show she’d watched with Clint awhile back. And, oddly enough, Sherlock Holmes looked a lot like Stephen Strange. How had she never noticed that before?

“You’ve got to pretend he’s dead,” Natasha said to John, covering her mouth as if in shock, shielding her lips from view. She remembered this story arc now. Moriarty, Sherlock’s nemesis, the man he had just faced on the rooftop above them, had snipers in his employ...

John hesitated a moment then collapsed to his knees on the sidewalk.

“This is my worst nightmare,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you know that, Sherlock?”

“Is it?” Sherlock asked, comprehension dawning on his face.

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Sorry.” Sherlock’s voice was soft now.

John reached for Sherlock’s wrist to take his pulse. “How long do I have to pretend to do this?”

“Just a bit longer.”

Natasha eased back into the crowd, the initial shock of the moment wearing away and being replaced with a heavy feeling of dread. If she was here, there was no way to know if Clint had succeeded. She was fairly certain she wasn’t actually dead, which probably meant he hadn’t gotten the Soul Stone. And there was no way to get back home.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes found her in a café half an hour later, taking the seat across from her at the small round table as if they were meeting for a date.

“You don’t belong here,” he said, his eyes even more unsettling than Sherlock’s had been. “Go home.”

“I’d be happy to, if I knew how.”

“This is a television show. I’m sure something could be arranged. You’ve already changed a main plot point by appearing at a most inconvenient time.”

“John should always have been included in Sherlock’s plan to defeat Moriarty,” Natasha said. “So this is better, I think.”

They stared at each other silently, until Mycroft relented.

“Due to my special position within this universe, there’s a chance I may be able to guarantee you safe passage back to your own.”

“How exactly are you going to do that?” Natasha asked.

“You were very good in Iron Man 2.”

“What?” Natasha’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.

“I can ask Jon Favreau to write you a better ending.”

“What happened in Iron Man 2?” Natasha asked, feeling fairly nauseous now.

“You were posing as Tony Stark’s assistant-”

“Natalie Rushman,” Natasha finished.

“Yes, and you defeated Jon quite handily in Tony Stark’s boxing ring. It’s one of my favorite scenes.”

“Jon?”

“Happy Hogan. He goes by Jon when he’s the director.”

Natasha put her head in her hands. “I...don’t. I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to know...and FUCK. I’m from the future. It’s been, oh-” she paused, calculating. “Thirteen years since then? I don’t even know if Happy...I mean, Jon- Wait, how many movies have been made so far?”

“Three,” Mycroft said.

“What other ones.”

“Well, obviously, there are two Iron Man films.”

“Of course.”

“And a Hulk film.”

“Figures.”

“And they’re currently finishing a Thor film and a Captain America film.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “I see.”

“No word on a Black Widow film as of yet,” Mycroft added, somewhat apologetically. 

She sat back, shrugging. “Oh, my life isn’t very interesting. I’m sure they would be hard pressed to come up with an entire movie’s worth of material.”

“Hmm,” Mycroft said, having the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, I can at least try talking to Jon Favreau. Maybe Happy can leave a time capsule to be accessed sometime in your future?”

Natasha jumped as a portal opened right next to her elbow and Clint poked his head through. Mycroft looked him up and down, sniffing.

“Hey, come on,” Clint said, barely registering anything but Natasha. “I got the stone, but we should get moving before that ghoul comes back.” When Natasha did nothing but stare at him expectantly, he added, “I would have told you, but the note said not to say anything about it until after. I assume you know what that’s all about?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But I can’t promise it will make any sense.”

“Is that Mark Gatiss?” Clint asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Sometimes,” Mycroft said, getting to his feet. “As it appears that this problem has been resolved, I’ll be going now. Good luck, and I look forward to watching all of your future films.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said, as she stepped back through the portal. “And sorry, not sorry about messing up that plot point.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“What was that about?” Clint asked, once they were alone again.

“Long story,” Natasha said. “When this is all over, remind me to tell you.”

**3) We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?**

She jumped, and for a moment was afraid she wouldn’t fall. Clint grabbed at her wrist, tried to drag her back up the cliff, but she kicked out against the rough stone, arcing back out into the expanse of nothingness that awaited her…

...and then water was all around her, cold, so shocking that she almost drew in a breath. She kicked hard, aiming for the glimmer of light above her head.

Natasha surfaced in a huge swimming pool, pushing the hair out of her face to stare back at the four people who were lined up along the edge, mouths hanging open.

“Holy cow.” That was coming from the suit, clearly FBI, but he looked a bit disheveled, so maybe former FBI?

“Who the hell are _you_?” the red-haired woman asked.

“That’s not...who is that?” came from the man with dusty blond hair. The woman slapped him lightly on the shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Stop staring, Rory,” she hissed.

Rory frowned. “Oh, come on, Amy. I’m just surprised. Were we expecting her?”

“Shut up, all of you,” the last person said, a man of indeterminate age and questionable fashion taste, owing to the bow-tie and too-short trousers. He was staring at Natasha intently, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows before they lifted up in surprise.

“Hello, sweetie,” a voice said behind Natasha, and she turned to see a water-logged woman in an evening gown paddling over to her side.

“Oh,” the bow-tie man said, his eyes widening. “OH! Right. Now I see.”

“See what?” Amy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Two of them?” Rory asked dubiously, while Amy rolled her eyes and pretended to still be annoyed with him.

Natasha swam to the edge of the pool, the realization shocking through her. She’d binge-watched every single available _Doctor Who_ episode with Steve post-Snap, but it had been mostly to wile away the sleepless nights. They’d both been too distraught to focus much on anything. But even so, the story had sunk in. For months afterward, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking that maybe, just maybe, if Thanos existed, and Loki, and Thor, then maybe, just maybe, the Doctor existed out there somewhere, too.

And this man with the bow-tie most definitely was the Doctor. Eleven, to be precise.

Which meant: Those were the Ponds. Amy and Rory. 

And the woman in the waterlogged evening gown was River Song. 

And...well. She stared hard at the FBI agent.

“Need a hand?” the Doctor asked, grinning amiably as he leaned over into her field of vision. 

She accepted, and he half-dragged her up out of the pool, the bottoms of his sleeves getting completely soaked in the process, then he turned to help River out of the pool, too.

“Doctor?” Natasha asked, and the Doctor turned to look at her, his expression going sharp despite the friendly smile still plastered across his face.

“How does she recognize him?” Amy asked, whirling on the FBI agent. “Is she one of yours?”

“I’m not FBI,” Natasha said, running her hands down her tac suit, letting the excess pool water flush down her legs. “Despite what it looks like.”

The FBI agent narrowed his eyes. “CIA?”

At the sound of his voice, the rest funneled in. 

The Silence.

The strange little girl in the astronaut suit whose story had hit a little too close to home.

The FBI agent - Canton-something? He _was_ a former FBI agent - forced out of service for wanting to marry his boyfriend. Back in 1969.

“Not CIA,” Natasha managed to say, her head spinning. She scanned for a chair, and Amy immediately dragged over one of the loungers set back from the edge of the pool and steadied her as she sat down. Rory threw a towel over her shoulders.

The Doctor peered closely at her again, then pulled back his soppy wet sleeve and looked at his bare wrist.

“I think this is just a bit of a side trip,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” He squatted down by Natasha’s chair, suddenly very serious. “You didn’t expect to end up here, did you?”

“Well, no.” Natasha looked into his eyes. “I expected to end up dead.”

“Well, good thing you landed in the swimming pool.”

“Will you be needing a ride back?” River asked.

“I don’t know,” Natasha said. “I had to make a choice. Maybe this is the consequence of that choice?”

“Right,” the Doctor said, getting to his feet. “Come along, Ponds. Er, I mean, Ponds et al.”

He whirled around and headed up the stairs to the control room, taking the steps three at a time while Canton, Amy, and Rory followed at a more reasonable pace.

“You go on ahead,” River said. “I need to get out of this dress. I would offer you a change of clothes, but I’m afraid it’s probably better if you stay exactly as you are.”

Natasha nodded and squeezed some last droplets of water out of her hair before heading up the stairs.

* * *

The control room of the TARDIS was too much to take in at first, more impressive than it had ever looked on the show. Canton was hovering off to one side, looking just about as overwhelmed as Natasha felt, and Amy and Rory were helping the Doctor as he zipped around the circular console, adjusting various levers and knobs and clacking away on a keyboard.

“It’s Vormir, isn’t it?” he asked, as he pulled a monitor closer and frowned at it. “Your point of origin?”

“Yes,” Natasha said.

“But not where you come from originally. Do you have a way to get home?”

“Yes,” Natasha said again. “But I’m not sure what will happen if I go back. I’m not actually sure I _should_ go back.”

“You said you expected to die,” the Doctor said, rubbing his chin and gazing at her thoughtfully.

“Why?” Amy asked. “What were you doing?”

Natasha sighed. “I don’t really want to get into it. But my colleague-” Her voice caught on the word. She cleared her throat. “There was an...incident where half the living things in our universe disappeared. They were just gone. Turned to dust. My friend and I traveled back in time to collect an object to stop the incident from happening. But a sacrifice was required in exchange for it.”

“Oh, that’s just a technicality, of course,” River said as she came up from below decks wearing a pair of khaki coveralls, her damp hair curling around her face. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Yeah,” Rory said, nodding his head encouragingly. “I’ve died loads of times and yet here I am.”

“Hmmm,” the Doctor said, still looking at Natasha. “Are you willing to take the risk?”

Natasha took a deep breath. “Uh-”

“Can’t we just do a fly-by and see if it’s a bad idea before we drop her off?” Canton asked.

“Yes,” River said, while the Doctor said, “No.”

“The TARDIS isn’t good at that sort of thing-”

“-says the man who drives with the parking brake on-”

“Oh, don’t get started on that again-”

“Oi!” Amy yelled. “We’ve got to do _something_ , otherwise she’s stuck with us.”

“It’s not really a good time,” Rory said, looking at Natasha apologetically.

“That’s…true,” the Doctor said. “Your presence here would rather complicate things. Well, let’s get on with it, then.” He took hold of a large lever and shifted it slowly. “Better hold onto something,” he added as the TARDIS began to shriek through its dematerialization process.

“Parking break,” River said in a sing-song voice.

“Oh, shut up,” the Doctor snapped.

* * *

When the TARDIS whorled to a stop, River flipped the door release and went to peek outside. 

“Ah yes,” she said. “This looks about right.”

Natasha joined her at the door, her heart in her throat, and there was Clint, standing in the middle of a shallow lake, the Soul Stone in hand.

“You’re all wet,” he said, blinking.

“I fell into a swimming pool.” Natasha said. “What’s your excuse?”

Clint stepped closer, the water swirling around his ankles as he walked. “Is that...is that really...”

“It most certainly is,” River said.

“Oh my God,” Clint said as he stepped into the TARDIS, his eyes going as big as dinner plates and just as shiny. “It really _is_ so much bigger on the inside!”

**4) I should rather have you than a heap of gold, even if it were very comfortable to sleep on.**

She jumped, and for a moment was afraid she wouldn’t fall. Clint grabbed at her wrist, tried to drag her back up the cliff, but she kicked out against the rough stone, arcing back out into the expanse of nothingness that awaited her…

...and then she was in the middle of a forest of...silver spikes. A cage closing around her? But no, there were...flexible appendages. She was in a giant...claw.

“What the hell?” Clint asked, tangled up next to her. Natasha peered through the gap between the claws, trying to make out the giant beast that had captured them. For lack of a better word, it looked like a dragon. Its reptilian body was a mass of sleek black scales, its jaw full of sharp silver teeth, and it had a ruff around its neck that resembled a frilled lizard. Its wings were spinning and twisting like a hummingbird’s as it hovered in mid-air over the great abyss.

Natasha rolled to her feet as the dragon’s voice boomed above them.

“Now there, I _did_ manage to catch both of them, see?”

They heard a response, but it was too far away to be intelligible, and then the dragon lifted his claw so that he could inspect them both with a large and inquisitive blue eye.

“Please don’t be afraid,” the dragon said. “I only wanted to rescue you. Are you aviators, too? I’ve never seen uniforms quite like that, but I imagine there’s much I have yet to learn about the world. Anyway, I am Temeraire, and this is my Captain, William Laurence.”

Temeraire deposited them on a spot between his shoulders, where a blond man in a rather vintage-looking British Navy officer’s uniform was waiting for them.

“Pray forgive us for…” Laurence began, his voice dying in his throat as he got a good look at both of them. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach for his saber, but fortunately he restrained himself.

“Hi,” Natasha said. “I’m Natasha and this is Clint. We also have no idea what’s going on.”

Laurence nodded uncomfortably. “Well-”

“Laurence!” Temeraire said, his voice going high and excited. “Do you see that orange stone? It’s glowing!”

He landed near the Red Skull’s lair, thoroughly frightening Red Skull and causing him to stumble back, the Soul Stone tumbling out of his hands and bouncing across the dusty ground. Temeraire snatched it up and inspected it closely.

“Is this your property?” he asked, crouching down to address himself to Red Skull. “Or can I have it?”

“Temeraire,” Laurence said, the stiffness of his demeanor giving way to a sort of flustered affection. “It is not polite to-”

“It’s _definitely_ not his property,” Clint cut in. “He was just holding it for us.”

“Clint, don’t be stupid,” Natasha said, nudging him hard.

Laurence narrowed his eyes, his shoulders straightening even further than Natasha thought possible.

“The stone is no one’s property,” she said. “We are borrowing it to help stop a war, then plan to bring it back afterwards.”

“Oh!” Temeraire said, his ruff going up. “A war? Do you need assistance? May we help, Laurence? It has been so dreadfully boring being confined to the ship.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer,” Natasha said. “But I don’t think you’ll fit in our ship.”

“The Stone demands a sacrifice!” the Red Skull shrieked, stamping his foot.

There was a long pause, during which Clint sighed and rubbed his temples, and Laurence managed to look even more disconcerted than he had before.

“What kind of sacrifice?” Temeraire asked, the slightest hint of reverberation in his voice.

“Death,” the Red Skull said.

“Oh.” Temeraire reared back so abruptly that Natasha and Clint had to drop and wind their fingers in the leather harness around his neck for fear of falling off. “I don’t care for that, at all.”

“Is that what you were doing when we interrupted?” Laurence asked, looking like he very much understood the meaning of sacrifice.

“She was trying,” Clint said, waving a hand in Natasha’s direction. “Which is ridiculous. It should be me.”

Temeraire snorted, turning his head to look back at them.

“Why, I’ll just give you the stone myself. There needn’t be any sacrifice at all.”

“But-” the Red Skull began.

“Hush,” Temeraire said. “They have promised to return it when they are finished, so I don’t see what the fuss is all about.”

Natasha looked over at Clint, who shrugged.

“Don’t look a gift dragon in the mouth?” he asked, as Temeraire carefully dropped the stone into his hand.

The Red Skull looked like he wanted to argue, but already the bottom of his robe was growing translucent. A moment later, he was completely gone. Natasha snuck a look at Laurence, unsurprised to find that he was gripping the hilt of his sword so hard that his knuckles were white.

“I am not a superstitious man,” he said, catching her glance. “But I cannot find a rational explanation for any of this.” He swallowed hard, and Natasha had to admire his self-control. “Perhaps what is worse is that I do not know how to find the way home. These skies are unfamiliar to me.”

“But, Laurence, I can see the ocean,” Temeraire said, craning his long neck. “Just through that bank of purple clouds. And the _Reliant_ , too.”

Laurence blinked, his expression easing.

“Well, it is prodigious strange,” he said. “It seems we must make haste lest we miss our opportunity. Temeraire, would you be so kind as to lower them to the ground?”

“Oh, but we have only just met,” Temeraire said, but did as he was asked. “I suppose there’s a chance we might meet again?”

“That would be cool,” Clint said.

“I would like that,” Natasha said. “Thank you for the rescue.”

“Of course,” Temeraire said, and far away up on his shoulders, Natasha saw Laurence nod once.

“Godspeed,” he called, and then Temeraire leapt into the air, kicking up a cloud of dust. He hovered a moment, glancing down at them one more time before flying off.

“That was...interesting,” Natasha said, as the dust settled around them with a quiet shushing sound.

“Yeah,” Clint said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Dragons are cool.”

**5) I know she’s made to be strong, but she’s also so fragile, so human. Know what I mean?**

She jumped, and for a moment was afraid she wouldn’t fall. Clint grabbed at her wrist, tried to drag her back up the cliff, but she kicked out against the rough stone, arcing back out into the expanse of nothingness that awaited her…

…and then OW, MOTHERFU-

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” a rough voice cut in.

Natasha stared up through the metal hole she had just fallen through – no, actually, it was the hole her body had made. Goddamnit. She felt like she had only just managed to escape being pressed to death in a waffle iron. Or something. It was hard to breathe. Also, her brain felt like it was still bouncing off the walls of her skull.

“Are you okay?” another voice asked, softer and kinder.

Natasha barely managed to register that she was in a moving vehicle. On the other side of the hole she had made in the roof _with her body_ , tall buildings were flashing by. And cars appeared to be…flying overhead, horns beeping in wailing Doppler effect as they zoomed back and forth.

She turned her head. There was a woman with a messy orange bob staring back at her from the passenger seat, her eyes wide. Natasha stared back at her, struggling to place the woman’s face in her memory.

“I know it’s not a good landing place,” the woman added sympathetically, and Natasha started to nod in agreement before wincing at the sharp spasm of pain that stabbed through her temple as a result.

“Were you ever planning to tell me there was another one of you out there?” the first voice asked. That was the driver. Natasha could just see him out of the corner of her eye. A bald head and well-muscled arms. Grumpy expression flashing back at her through the rear view mirror. She looked back up at the sky, or rather, at the smog that passed for the sky, and could swear everything was going dark…

* * *

When Natasha woke up, it was to the orange-haired woman putting some sort of medical device around her arm. She was out of her tac suit, laid out on a bed in some sort of futuristic apartment, the lights dimmed and the blinds drawn.

“You have a concussion and some broken ribs,” the woman said. “Not to mention the bruising must be terrible. Even so, you got very lucky.” She motioned to the device on Natasha’s arm. “This machine will help you heal.”

“Thanks,” Natasha managed, her voice barely a croak, sleep already reclaiming her.

* * *

The next time she woke up, it was to the grouchy, bald-headed man coming through the door, a splash of light spilling into the room from the space behind him.

“Sorry about your car,” Natasha said, wincing against the brightness. “Your flying car,” she amended.

“Eh, you’re not the first,” the man said, plopping a large pack of liquid by her shoulder. “Drink this. It’s a meal pack. Hydration and nutrition. The WC is through that panel.” He pointed to the wall, where Natasha could just barely make out a narrow, door-shaped seam.

“Yell if you need anything else,” the man added, as he backed out the door.

* * *

Natasha had no idea how much time had passed once she started to feel better. Some semblance of her usual alertness had finally returned, enough so that she could take in more details about her surroundings. There were four empty meal packs by the bed. She eased herself out from under the weird, metallic covers and cracked the bedroom door.

The orange-haired woman was practicing some kind of martial art in the living room, hair pulled up into a pile on the top of her head. The sense of familiarity wavered closer. Something about how the woman moved. The design of the apartment – futuristic but somehow still evoking a 90s aesthetic.

“Hey!” the woman said, upon seeing Natasha. “Are you starting to feel better?”

“Somewhat,” Natasha said. Her body still ached all over, and there was a vague sense of muzziness lingering at the edge of her consciousness.

“I’m Leeloo Dallas,” the woman said, sticking out her hand. “It’s so amazing to meet you in person.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course. You’re the Black Widow. I’ve seen all your movies.”

Natasha blinked. “My what?”

“Your films,” Leeloo said. “I’ve seen them all, even that obscure fan-made one that resulted in a copyright infringement lawsuit. And I’ve seen the mini-series. And read all of your comics and books. I’m a pop culture historian who specializes in 21st century queer and femme representation. I wrote a book about you and everything.”

Natasha blinked, struggling to form any sort of coherent sentence in response.

“Was it a time traveling experiment gone wrong?” Leeloo asked. “Because none of the works I’ve seen or read ever mention you appearing in my world. Unless you’re from a fanfiction world?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha said. “Are you saying I don’t exist here?”

“You’re a story,” Leeloo said. “Like how we are in your world.”

“Leeloo, I thought we were going to break this to her slowly,” the grouchy man said, sticking his head into the living room from a tiny space that looked like it might be some kind of kitchen. He was wearing a white tank top, and Natasha finally got a good look at his face. She turned back to Leeloo, then back to the grouchy man then back to Leeloo then back to the grouchy man.

“I’m Korben,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “You okay?”

“Oh,” Natasha said, as everything fell into place. “You’re from that goddamn sci-fi movie. What the _fuck_. Where the hell am I? In purgatory?”

“Yes, we’re from _The Fifth Element_ ,” Leeloo said. “And as far as I know, this isn’t purgatory.”

“It would explain a lot, though,” Korben added.

Natasha sighed heavily and sat down on the couch, which was softer than she had expected. She started to struggle against its squishy embrace than gave up.

“What now?” she asked. “I’m supposed to be dead. I was supposed to die and my friend Clint was supposed to get the Soul Stone and take it back so my other friends could save the universe.”

Leeloo sat down next to her. “Don’t worry, we can fix it. We’ve done it before.”

“You have?”

“Yes,” Leeloo said. “We crossed into your world to fix what happened during the Infinity War, but I guess you’re not from that timeline... Hmmm. Judging by your current hairstyle, I’m pretty sure I know what time you’re from, but we ought to be sure before we send you back.”

“Why would I go back?” Natasha asked. “I’m supposed to be dead. I chose to be the sacrifice.”

“That’s why it’s called a fix-it,” Leeloo said, laughing. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. Tell me everything that’s happened to you in the last five or so years.”

“Everything?” Natasha asked doubtfully, thinking of the long stretches of despair, her epic TV binge-watching habits, that time she and Steve had disappeared for six months and spent the first half getting into bar fights and the second half atoning for their actions by volunteering for various relief organizations.

“Just enough so that I can place you in the right storyline,” Leeloo said. “Your memories of doing things with the entire ensemble cast - I mean, with the other superheroes - will mostly likely be the ones I recognize. So you don’t have to share anything too private, if you don’t want.”

So Natasha told her about using the pager to call Captain Marvel. About Thanos destroying the Infinity Stones just before they arrived. About exchanging regular emails with a raccoon named Rocket and getting to know Rhodey, Okoye, and Nebula. The shock of seeing Thor again. How Steve withdrew more and more despite everything she tried to do to help him. How Tony and Pepper just dropped off the grid. How Ant Man came back. Their desperate plan to collect the Infinity Stones all over again. About how Clint fought her decision to trade her life for the Soul Stone.

It helped to talk about it, and the more she talked, the more poured out. Leeloo sat next to her the whole time, while Korben drifted in and out of the room, supplying them with snacks and drinks, until Natasha felt simultaneously full of food and friendship and empty of everything she had been carrying around inside. They sat in silence for awhile after that, Korben fidgeting with stuff in the living room until Leeloo turned to give him a look that sent him flopping down into the armchair by the couch.

“So, I was right,” Leeloo said finally. “You’re from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. _Avengers: Endgame_ , specifically. We can send you back and then there will be another version of the movie where you don’t die.”

“We could send her back during her funeral,” Korben said abruptly. “Scare the shit out of ‘em. That’s what I would do.”

“That’s fucked up,” Natasha said, giggling despite herself. “But also hilarious.”

“They don’t show Natasha’s funeral in the movie,” Leeloo said, then looked at Natasha. “Sorry.”

“It’s...” Natasha shook her head. “Whatever, I don’t care.”

“I think since you’re going back and staying there, it would probably be safest to return you to the exact moment you left. What do you think, Korben?”

“Don’t ask me,” Korben said. “I barely understood what the hell was going on the last time we went.”

Natasha frowned. “So, how does this work?”

“I can step through TV screens,” Leeloo said. “Don’t ask me why. It’s just like that.”

“It’s because she’s fantastically one-of-a-kind,” Korben said.

Leeloo rolled her eyes, grinning. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I can help you get through the screen and back into your world. I just have to find the scene in _Endgame_ that happens right after your...um...your death.”

“Okay,” Natasha said, her mouth going dry as she remembered what it felt like to fall.

“Hey,” Korben said, springing up from the armchair. “While she’s cuing that up, you wanna see what New York City looks like in the twenty-third century? There’s a pretty good view from the kitchen window.”

“Sure,” Natasha said, smiling at him gratefully.

**+1) I used to have nothing.**

The Soul Stone demanded a sacrifice, and Natasha knew what needed to be done. Clint seemed to realize it at the same time, gripping her arms in silent protest and looking deep into her eyes.

“Let me do this,” she said, through gritted teeth, shaking off his hands more brusquely than she meant to.

“It should be me,” Clint replied, following her as she approached the edge of the abyss.

The Red Skull looked on, impassive, more mythical than real, his edges half-dissolving the the murk that cloaked his form.

“Clint, you have a family.”

“So do you,” Clint replied. “And they need you.”

“He’s right,” a deep voice said, behind her.

Natasha turned, hardly daring to believe it, but there was Steve. He was wearing one of the new Advanced suits, with its white chest piece and red across the shoulders, but he looked older, somehow. And...and James Barnes was standing next to him, in a matching suit, looking very solid and real.

“Holy shit,” Clint said. “You got Barnes back?”

“We got everyone back,” Steve said. “At great cost.”

Natasha swallowed hard.

“It’s been way longer than a minute,” he added, meeting Natasha’s eyes, his voice gently chiding.

“I wasn’t being literal,” she said, feeling oddly irritated. Seeing Steve made her doubt all of that beautiful clarity that she had been feeling a moment ago, her sense of purpose wavering wildly now.

“What are you doing here?” Clint asked.

“We’re from a depressing timeline,” James said. “We want to help you do better.”

“Fools,” the Red Skull hissed. “Someone must always die in exchange for the Stone.”

“This asshole,” James said. “Never thought I’d see _him_ again.”

“Life’s funny that way, isn’t it?” Steve said. “I don’t know about you, but I kinda like finding out that he’s been stuck here this whole time.”

“Shut up and make your choice!” the Red Skull demanded.

“Let Clint make the sacrifice,” Steve said.

“Wait, what?” Clint asked.

Steve gave Clint his patented Captain America look, which was hard to decipher in this context. It just seemed like he was disappointed. James appeared to be winking, but it was so slow and serious that it looked more like a grimace.

“Was that supposed to be a wink?” Clint asked Natasha under his breath.

“I don’t fucking know,” she replied, a great wave of emotion rising within – anger, grief, exasperation.

The Red Skull laughed, low and harsh. “Can’t you see she’s already made her choice?”

“You shut the fuck up right now,” Clint said, already notching an arrow to his bow.

“No, he’s actually right,” Natasha said. “I’ve made my choice. Why can’t you respect that?”

Steve closed his eyes briefly. “I know what this looks like. But it’s not-” He took a breath. “You know I made a similar choice, a long time ago.”

“Do you regret it?” she asked.

“No,” Steve said, looking at James. “But I couldn’t have known that if I didn’t get a second chance.”

“You should be the one who takes the stone back,” Clint said, squeezing her shoulder. “I said it before and I’m saying it again. You lost everything. Everything. And you kept doing good things, anyway. And what did I do? I went out and slaughtered a bunch of people.”

“But my ledger is still much longer than yours, Clint.”

“We’ve all done things we regret,” James said, his voice rough.

“Please,” Steve said. “Trust me.”

Clint sighed, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“No,” Natasha said.

“Nat.” Clint met her eyes. “You gotta let me go.”

“I don’t want to,” Natasha whispered, reaching out for him, but he slipped from her fingers, backing slowly toward the edge of the precipice, his face pale, sweat beading on his upper lip.

“Give ‘em hell for me, okay?” he said, and then he was gone.

* * *

Natasha opened her eyes. She was floating in a pool of water, the purple-clouded sky arcing above her. Her right hand was clenched shut, palm warm. She kicked out, felt the mushy bottom, and rolled to her knees. The cool water lapped against her thighs. She opened her fist, and it was there, glowing orange. The Soul Stone.

“No,” she said, her voice breaking in her throat. “Clint.”

* * *

When she got back to the Avengers facility and told them, Steve just pulled her into a hug. It took all of her will power not to scream at him. This Steve wasn’t the same Steve who had interfered on Vormir. It couldn’t have been. He didn’t have James back yet.

So she kept it to herself, mourning with the rest of them by the lake before Tony reminded them that the only thing left to do was to keep going, so that Clint’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

Everything else happened so quickly. The Quantum Tunnel somehow activated, bringing Thanos’ ship to their position. The Avengers facility was bombed to the ground. Natasha dug through the rubble, fingers bleeding, until she found the Nano Gauntlet and passed it on to Nebula. Thanos’ armada poured out of the sky to ambush them with an instant war. She saw Steve wielding Thor’s Hammer, Mjølnir, and the sling-ring portals opening to admit everyone who had once been lost, restored by Bruce’s reverse-Snap. She watched Carol single-handedly destroy Thanos’ ship, blasting through it like a human torpedo. She held her breath when Wanda caught Thanos in a web of red.

The gauntlet was out there somewhere, but she didn’t have time to think about it. The battle was crashing in around her, a wave of Outriders swarming close.

“Natalia!” A voice crackled over the comm, and then Sam swooped past, barely pausing for long enough to deposit James Barnes straight into the melee surrounding her. He landed with a thud, assault rifle at the ready.

“I’m going to check on Steve,” Sam said, his voice doubling as it reached Natasha’s ears both through the battle noise and over the radio.

“Watch out for the lightning,” Natasha answered, because it seemed Steve was _still_ wielding Mjølnir. She pushed away a twinge of jealousy. A weapon was a weapon, and anyway, she had her Widow’s Bites, which were basically the same thing. Probably. Maybe. Well, close enough, at least.

“Almost feels like a video game, doesn’t it?” James asked, turning to stand back-to-back with her.

“Sure does,” Natasha said, firing two well-aimed shots.

They paused at the sight of Steve leaping straight into a pack of Outriders, an explosion of alien bodies immediately following suit.

“That man is going to be the death of me,” James said.

“You gotta admire his style, though.”

“He managed to break his goddamn shield. You know that thing’s made out of vibranium, right?”

“I know, I know,” Natasha said, then tensed at a flash of blue. “What’s Carol doing?”

“Oh, snap,” James said. “She’s got the gauntlet.”

Everyone stopped fighting to watch as Carol lit up, the blue around her going so bright that the color burned through Natasha’s closed eyelids. They heard a multitude of screams tearing across the world, and then, the silent susurrus of dust.

Just as quickly as they had come, Thanos and his army were gone.

* * *

“Well, that happened,” Tony said, to no one in particular.

They were all standing in clumps by the lake, near the rubble of the former Avengers facility. Everyone was there - all the people Natasha had met throughout the long fight, reunited in the way she had always dreamt of during those long years alone. There was Thor, laughing with Brunnhilde, Heimdall, and Bruce. There was Loki, curling his lip at something his brother had said. There was Sam, talking to Rhodey, Okoye, and Doctor Strange. There were T’Challa and Nakia talking to Carol. There were Shuri and the Spider kid smirking mischievously about something. There was Scott talking to Wong and the woman who had fought as a wasp. There was Wanda smiling as Nebula and Vision sized each other up. There was Rocket with the rest of his crew, people she’d barely had a chance to talk to yet. And there was Tony pulling Pepper away from food prep just to hold her in his arms.

Pepper had somehow convinced someone to deliver basic sandwich supplies, and even though Natasha hadn’t felt hungry, she found herself drifting over to the makeshift food area. James was already there, slapping together a bunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He held one out to her on a paper plate, eyebrows lifting in question, and she took it with a smile.

“Hey,” Steve said, appearing at her elbow.

“Hey,” Natasha said, taking a huge, tasteless bite of her sandwich and then tossing the plate back onto the table. 

Steve cleared his throat. “As soon as we figure out how to set up a new Quantum Tunnel, I’m going to take the stones back to where they belong. But I thought I’d see if you wanted to take the Soul Stone back yourself.”

Natasha took a deep breath. This version of Steve clearly had no memory of having interfered to save her life on Vormir. Or maybe he hadn’t done it yet. Was she supposed to tell him to go back in time and talk to her? She was sure he would have mentioned it if that was the case.

So did that mean she was now part of another timeline? With a different Steve and a different James? Did that mean that she had been the one who had died originally, instead of Clint? She couldn’t think on that too much. Her grief was still too close, an edge that threatened to cut her open if she wasn’t careful.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said finally.

“Oh, okay,” Steve replied, his forehead wrinkling. Natasha bit her lip, guilt, grief, and gratitude sloshing around inside of her. She would never have thought to ask for a second chance. She didn’t even feel like she deserved it. But the opportunity had been given to her, anyway.

“You’re coming back, right?” she asked, prompted by a sudden feeling of apprehension. Steve had told her about how he had seen Peggy back in 1970, when he and Tony had gone to get the Tesseract and more Pym particles.

Steve frowned. “Of course I’m coming back.” But there was something he was holding back. Natasha could read it in the guilty look in his eyes.

“I knew it,” James said, as if the words had been on the tip of his tongue already, waiting to spill out. He shook his head, backing away. “You’re thinking about staying back there. Fuck this. _Fuck_ this.”

“Bucky, wait,” Steve said, but James was already walking away.

Natasha watched as Steve outmaneuvered him, intercepting him before he could slink off through the sparse array of trees. The conversations in the clearing died down, everyone turning to stare, as Steve slowly and purposefully got to his knees in front of him.

“Jesus, Steve, get up,” James said into the awkward silence, trying to pull Steve up, but Steve refused to budge. Instead, he slid his arms around James' waist, looking up at him.

“I just got you back, Buck,” he said, his voice going low and rough in a way that Natasha had never heard before. “You think I’m gonna leave, just like that?”

“Get _up_ , Steve,” James said, pulling futilely on his uniform straps.

Steve just buried his face in James' stomach, pulling him closer.

“Get a room,” Rocket called out, shattering the awkward tension.

“Jesus, will you, though?” Tony added.

“Nah, this is great,” Sam said. “Look how embarrassed Bucky looks.”

“Thank you very much, Samuel,” James said, with stiff dignity.

Steve laughed and got back to his feet, pulling a now very indignant James into what looked to be a one-sided embrace. He whispered something into James’ ear, and then James relented and hugged him back. And then, well, they started really, really hugging.

Natasha looked away, meeting Sam’s gaze. He grinned and shook his head.

 _Drama queens_ , he mouthed.

Natasha nodded. _Pretty much,_ she mouthed back.

* * *

“He wants to warn Peggy,” James said, sliding into the copilot’s seat. “He wants her to find him in the ice. And rescue me. And stop HYDRA before they infiltrate the SSR.”

They were in one of the remaining quinjets, getting ready to head to New York City. Behind them, in the main cabin, Steve was deep in conversation with Bruce and Sam, probably about the new Quantum Tunnel.

“Makes sense,” Natasha said, firing up the engines. Once upon a time she would have questioned this, especially given Bruce’s warnings about messing with the timelines. But now? She didn’t feel like it was her place to say anything about it, considering her own situation.

“You’re siding with him on this?” James asked. “Really?”

Natasha shrugged. “Why not? If you had the chance to give yourself another timeline, wouldn’t you take it?”

“Presumably, multiple versions of my timeline already exist out there,” James said. “So what’s the difference?”

“What if it was _your_ life, though?” Natasha asked, looking at him.

James sighed. “I don’t fucking know. I...I try not to think in those terms too much. I was the Winter Soldier for seventy years, and there’s nothing that will ever change that.”

Natasha blinked, staring out through the windscreen, wrestling with her guilt. Maybe he was right. Even if she had been the one who was supposed to die on Vormir, it was too late to change that now. Maybe it was best not to think about it too much.

“He wants his dance with Pegs, too,” James said gloomily. “Which is, I suppose, fair enough.”

“Are you actually jealous right now, James?” Natasha asked, amused enough to snap out of her reverie.

“No. I mean…just a little.”

“This is the guy that drops everything for you at a moment’s notice, no matter the stakes.”

“I’m not usually like this,” James said, then he grinned, bright and lethal. “But when needs must.”

“Stop it,” Natasha said. “You know he’s got a big heart. Big enough to share with both of you. Besides, Peggy might have stolen Cap’s heart, but you know you’ll always have Steve’s.”

James didn’t answer, and Natasha caught him looking absolutely stunned, as if she’d just hit him over the head with a crowbar.

“It’s pretty damn obvious to everyone except for you, apparently,” she said.

“Apparently,” James said, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “You’re a real pal, Romanova, you know that?”

“Shut up and help me navigate,” Natasha replied, smiling back.

She pulled back on the throttle, the quinjet lifting up into the air, her heart fluttering as it always did with the thrill of flight. She looked down at the evidence of battle one last time - the rubble, the large swathes of land torn up and muddy. In that moment, she knew what she needed to do.

She would help Bruce get the Quantum Tunnel set up for Steve to return the Infinity Stones. She would never mention how he and James - or another version of them, at least - had stopped her from sacrificing her life. She would call Laura and break the news about Clint.

And then...then she’d accept the gift that she’d been given and finally take the chance to move on with her life.

* * *

Bruce and Natasha set up the Quantum Tunnel platform by the lake, near the hulking remains of the Avengers Facility. There was a chill in the air, so she kept her jacket zipped the whole way, hoodie up over her hair. James had been hovering around the entire time, occasionally making himself useful, but mostly stressing them all out with his worrying.

“He’s going to be fine, Bucky,” Sam said, as Steve stepped up onto the platform in his Advanced suit. Seeing Steve like that was giving Natasha flashbacks. But this definitely wasn’t the Steve that went back to Vormir to talk to her. He was traveling alone.

“Ready?” Bruce asked.

Steve nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Going quantum in three...two...one.” Bruce flipped the switch, and Steve was gone in the blink of an eye. “And returning in five...four...three...two...one.”

There was a flash, two figures appearing on the platform. One of them stumbled down to plaster himself to the ground, hugging the grass with delirious abandon.

“Clint?” Natasha asked, tears springing to her eyes. Thank fucking _God_ she hadn’t worked up the courage to call Laura yet.

Clint lifted his head and looked at her a bit wildly. “Nat!”

He sprang to his feet as she sprinted over to him, bowling him over with the impact of her embrace.

Bruce’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell?”

“I honestly can’t fucking believe that worked,” Clint said. “Wait a second, did it? Did we win? Did we defeat Thanos?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “We did.”

Clint laughed. “Sam, you can’t even imagine how surprised I was when you caught me. I guess those wings do come in handy. I should look into getting a pair. We can be real bird buddies.”

Sam frowned. “Um...”

“Oh,” Natasha said, as she put two-and-two together. “Those sneaky bastards.”

“Excuse me?” James asked.

“Different Sam,” Natasha said, looking at Clint. “Different Steve and different James. I’m the only one who knows what you’re talking about.”

“Oh,” Clint said. “Wow. Okay.”

Everyone was staring at them now. James had a calculating look in his eyes, Sam was frowning, Steve had that wrinkle between his eyebrows, and Bruce looked a shade greener than his usual tone.

“You seriously didn’t-” he began.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “Let’s not even talk about it. Don’t want to jinx this.”

Bruce sighed. “Whatever. If the Sorcerer Supreme shows up to yell at me about the timelines being all messed up, I’ll send her your way, then.”

“That’s fine,” Natasha said.

“I’m glad you made it back, Clint,” Steve said. “Even if I don’t understand how the hell you managed it.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Clint said solemnly.

Steve grinned. “Fair enough.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows when she finally registered that Steve was carrying something. He’d been empty-handed when he left, but now he had his shield, an unbroken version that he must have retrieved from somewhere in the past.

“I got this for you,” he said, tossing it to Sam.

“What?” Sam asked as he caught it. “Are you serious?”

“100 percent.”

“Wow.” Sam risked a glance in James' direction.

James nodded. “It suits you, Sam.”

Sam laughed, hefting the shield. “Captain America, huh?”

“You’re the one,” Steve said, stepping down from the platform. “I knew the moment I met you.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam said, reaching out to hug him. “What are you going to do now, retire?”

“I sure as hell am gonna try,” Steve said, looking over at James.

“Is that so?” James asked. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I told you, Buck. Five more seconds, and then I’m done.” Steve unbuckled the top part of his suit, pulling it off over his head and tossing it to the ground, revealing a slightly wrinkled button-up.

“No, don’t do that here,” Sam said, as Steve started shimmying out of his uniform bottoms.

“I’m trying to prove a point, Sam,” Steve said. “See? I’m done with uniforms.”

Turns out Steve was actually wearing a nice pair of dark wash jeans under there.

“Who does that?” Clint asked.

“I think the only thing you’re proving is that you’re a dork,” James said.

“That looks like a dad uniform to me,” Bruce said.

“Hey!” Steve said. “That’s not…help me out here, Nat. I don’t look _that_ bad, do I?”

Natasha let the moment drag out, squinting her eyes and pretending to analyze Steve’s outfit in great detail.

“It’s definitely an improvement on the ‘khakis dad’ version of yesteryear,” she said finally.

Steve groaned. “Thanks a lot.”

“Oh no, he did that?” James asked. “Kinda makes me glad I was one of the dusty ones.”

“Oh _no_ ,” Sam said.

Natasha tried so hard not to laugh, but the sound was squeezing out of her in fits and gasps. She felt like a jack-in-the-box. Half-hysterical, half-giddy, all of the instability of the last few years of her life settling into some semblance of equilibrium inside of her. She hadn’t ever expected it, but it really felt like things might be All Right now. It brought tears to her eyes, though they really were mostly happy ones.

“Aw, Nat,” Clint said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, guys. It’s a group hug.”

“Hell yeah,” Sam said, stepping in.

“Put the shield down, though,” Steve said, laughing.

“I feel like I should go last?” Bruce said, looking over at James.

“We’re really doing this?” James asked, but he slouched over to them anyway, squeezing everyone so hard that even Steve let out a grunt. “You’re all a bunch of saps,” he added, as Bruce scooped them all into a very firm and slightly scary Hulk hug.

“That was a horrible pun, Bucky,” Steve said, muffled against Natasha’s shoulder.

“Sorry, honey.”

“Jerk.”

“Shut up, guys, you’re ruining the moment,” Sam said.

Natasha spotted the smirk blooming on James’ face before he spoke again.

“Your outfit actually _does_ look good, Stevie,” he said. “I’d do you any day, daddy.”

Sam groaned and Bruce laughed, their entire group hug shaking with the force of it. Natasha buried her face in Clint’s shoulder. She could feel Clint shaking with silent laughter, too, and Steve was practically radiating embarrassment.

“How long do we have to keep hugging for?” he asked.

“Just a little bit longer,” Natasha said, smiling hard.


End file.
